


Jackhammers And Hand Creams

by Chokopoppo



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Construction Worker AU, F/M, Lush Fic, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chokopoppo/pseuds/Chokopoppo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max may or may not have a crush on his best friend, but he's definitely not going to TELL her that. Especially since she knows how many skin lotions he's using.</p>
<p>At the end of the day, everything is Nux's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jackhammers And Hand Creams

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is a Lushfic. What's a Lushfic? It's like a coffee shop AU, but instead of talking about coffee, I get to talk about my favorite Lush products! Yaaaaay.

“Where are we going?”

“Detour,” Furiosa says, over the roar of the engine.

Max sits back in his seat and grunts. It’s been a long day of work, and more than anything else, he really just wants to go home. On the other hand, though, he never really sees - or talks to - Furiosa outside of work, except in the carpool, and that comes with the added irritation of Nux in the backseat. In fact, Max doesn’t really see _anyone_ outside of work. The construction crew is the source for all human interaction in his life.

That being said, of all human interaction he has these days, what he gets from Furiosa is the most tolerable. Her presence is not only acceptable, it’s slowly becoming…desirable. Twice this week, and twice again _last_ week, Max caught himself trying to ask her to get coffee after work with him, halted only by the difficulty of forming words and - to a lesser extent - a fear of rejection. So going on a ‘detour’ with Furiosa is…not a terrible outcome. Going somewhere with a workplace acquaintance after work. Kinda like the old days.

And Nux is already gone. An added benefit.

It’s not - Max mentally amends - that he _dislikes_ Nux. It’s more that Nux is an annoyance on par with a younger sibling that Max has to take care of. Four or five times in the past month alone, he’s had to call an ambulance for Nux or one of his friends after they do some stupid stunt while they’re at work. The emergency line personnel is on a first name basis with him by now.

“We’re here,” Furiosa says, and Max startles out of his reverie, peers out through the front window. It’s…the mall. Max glances to her, looking for an explanation. He doesn’t get one. “Let’s go.”

Max has questions. Kind of a lot of questions. None of them make it to his mouth - instead, he gets out of the passenger side of the truck and follows her uncertainly. The thing about Furiosa that Max likes the most is that she knows how to be quiet, and doesn’t speak unless she has to - unlike Nux, who desperately fills silence with mindless jabbering. Unfortunately, he’d sort of like to get some words into _this_ awkward silence, and that’s clearly going to be a no-go. Furiosa is a woman with a mission. He’s just along for the ride.

Max isn’t a mall person - he sort of assumed Furiosa wasn’t, either. There’s one store on the way home from work, for him, and since the Stuffershack sells bacon, soup, and Barbasol, he doesn’t really need to stop anywhere else. He relies entirely on her guidance, quietly pockets away the confidence of her stride, like there aren’t teenagers and middle-aged moms staring at them, whispering quietly and pointing. Personally, he feels self-conscious - about his clothes, his smell, his hair - and, distracted by his own thoughts, doesn’t realize they’ve stopped until he stumbles into Furiosa’s back, blinks, and looks around.

In retrospect, the smell probably hit him first. While the rest of the mall smells like sterile AC, the small, dark store they’ve wandered into sort of smells like eight million flower bouquets, only cleaner. Max glances to Furiosa to apologize, but she’s moving again, towards a red-haired woman in what he assumes is an employee apron. They hug. Max squints, uncertainly.

“Max, I wanna introduce you,” she says, pulling away and slinging an arm over the woman’s shoulder. “This is my sister, Capable. Capable, this is Max, my…workplace associate.” Capable stares at him with a newfound interest as Furiosa carries on. “I need more ultrabalm, I go through that stuff like a hurricane. Is Splendid here today?”

“Yeah, she’s in the back, taking stock - we just got a new shipment of those face masks,” Capable replies, still fixed on Max. “I can go get her, if you want.”

“Yeah, sure,” Furiosa says, and Capable smiles, wiggles out from under her arm, and bounces off to what Max assumes is the back room. He glances at Furiosa, raises his eyebrows. Something that looks like a smile is gracing her face. “All my sisters work here,” she says, like this explains anything, “I feel like if we’re gonna carpool together all the time, you should at least know them.” Max nods, watches her stride past him towards one of the shelves on the wall, sticks his hands in his pockets uncertainly.

It used to be him driving the carpool. Well, not with Furiosa - he used to drive _Nux_ to work, since the damn kid was always late otherwise. And then, one afternoon in late July, his car had ended up fucking trashed via asshole-on-the-highway-itis. Nux, actually, had been the one to find the new carpool - in frustration, he’d told Max he was going to look for another person to ride with, on account of how far away he lived and how much he needed a ride, and Max had a motorbike, right, he could get to work on his own. And he’d gotten in touch with Furiosa, after practically everyone else on the construction crew they worked with had turned him down.

And then Furiosa…Max wrinkles his brow just thinking about it. Furiosa had called _Max_. Said that Nux had explained what had happened. Offered to give him a ride, too.

He’d always respected Furiosa, even before that. He felt…sufficiently flattered, to say the least, that she’d gone the extra mile and offered him a place in the carpool. And since then, they’d sort of been…hanging around each other at work. Which he definitely didn’t mind. But up until now, their relationship had mostly been based on suggesting breakfast places to each other when work closed early for weather, or getting coffee at McDonalds and complaining bitterly about how shit it was while chugging it down anyway.

“Are you thinking about shaving creams?” A soft voice calls from over his shoulder, and Max jolts, turns his head sharply to see a tall blond woman smiling at him. “I’m Splendid,” she says, by way of explanation, “Capable told me to come talk to you. So you work with Furiosa?”

Max glances back to Furiosa for backup, but she’s at the checkout counter, talking amiably with yet _another_ pretty young woman. Another sister? How many _were_ there? Remembering his manners, he turns his gaze back to Splendid, nods and shrugs. A smile slowly creeps along her face, and she nods back. Max isn’t sure how comfortable he is with that.

“Well, anyway,” she says, after a pause, “you might like the Dirty shaving cream - it’s sort of a more masculine scent, since it was originally designed as a men’s product.” Oh thank god. There are ‘men’s products’ here. Max was raised in a household with some rather interesting interpretations on manners, and he knows, to be polite, he’s going to have to buy something. “Would you like me to show you how it works?”

No. No, he would not. He doesn’t know what it smells like, but he knows he doesn’t want to smell like that. Not right now, anyway. (And probably not ever.) Instead, he clears his throat, and says “I’ll, um. I’ll figure it out. I’ll just…” he points vaguely. “Just take this little one."

Splendid smiles. Like a shark.

~~

“Did you have fun?” Furiosa asks when they get back in the car.

“How many sisters do you _have_?” Max asks, feeling deeply out of the loop and also like he spent _fifteen dollars on shaving cream_ and would like to know why.

“Five,” she says easily, then, “so did you buy that because you felt obligated, or are you actually going to use it?”

“Course I’m gonna use it,” Max lies. “Try it right when I get home."

~~

Max doesn’t think about the shaving cream for a month. Maybe even a month and a half. He gets home with the smelly bag (which he immediately discards in a neighbor’s trash bin), throws the catalog next to the toilet (always good to have spare paper), and with some hesitation, places the small container on the counter next to his sink, between his toothbrush and his barbasol. And it sits there for weeks.

He was always raised to be money-conscious, and he can’t justify throwing the cream _away_ \- fifteen dollars for less than five ounces of cream is too much to classify it as garbage. Besides, if Furiosa ever takes up his offer to come over and have a drink, she might…notice it sitting there. Mostly, he has to work on asking her, first. Until then, though, the barbasol is just as serviceable as it always has been, and Max puts away any thought of actually _using_ the new stuff.

Until Friday.

Friday was a perfectly normal day, following a perfectly irritating night - Nux and his “brothers” had crashed an otherwise quiet evening with hoots and hollers and a quick “hey we’re really tired, can we just crash in your living room? We won’t be any trouble, thanks, bloodbag”, and Max had been up most of the night, trying to sleep. Hungover and sleep-deprived, he isn’t in his best mood now, splashing water on his face and fumbling through drawers for his razor. He goes, as usual, to barbasol, presses the aerosol button to spray it into his hand - 

There’s nothing in there.

It doesn’t make any sense, Max thinks, pressing the button again harder, as though that might change the outcome. Yesterday morning, the can was half-full. At least, it _felt_ half-full. Max has always been good at knowing how full a can of barbasol is. And now - nothing. And it doesn’t make any sense…who would’ve…

Nux. Max’s eyebrows crinkle together in realization. Nux and his “brothers” were all crashing here, and if they’re anything like Nux, they not only shave their heads, but also their legs, armpits, chest - anywhere hair ought to be. And there were, what, four of them? And they _all used his shaving cream_. Max is going to kill them.

No. No, okay. He shakes his head. Can’t think about that now. What does he do about his face? If he goes to the rig like this, and Furiosa’s working a shift - can’t do that. He could shave dry - thinks about his bleary eyes, decides not. Glances over the table-top, and remembers, suddenly, the Lush thing. That’s shaving cream, right? Well, it’s smelly, girly shaving cream, he adds internally, but if it shaves, it stays.

He picks up the plastic tin. _DIRTY_ , it proclaims. “The hell you are,” he mumbles, then realizes he’s talking to himself and maybe he ought to stop doing that.

It takes him a couple shots to realize that it’s a screw-cap, not a pull-lid, and once he’s staring down at it, he’s confused again. It’s not foam, or anything - is he supposed to rub it in his hands until it becomes foam? Helpless, he checks the label for a sign, instructions, anything to indicate what he’s supposed to do. ' _Wet face and then apply a generous dollop of shaving cream,_ ’ a tiny note on the back proclaims, and he almost sighs in relief to find it. Okay, ‘ _work it in,_ ’ uh, ‘ _wash razor frequently,_ ’ right, that’s all pretty normal for shaving cream. Hesitantly, he sets a few fingers against the cream, scoops it out, rubs it onto both hands. Alright. The moment of truth.

Well, he thinks as he rubs the cream into his stubble, he only really has to do this once. He’ll just grab some more of the normal stuff on his way home from work. And besides, the Dirty shaving cream doesn’t actually smell that _bad_. It kinda smells like his aftershave, actually. Like, uh, sandalwood. That’s not so bad. He’s got plenty of stuff that smells like sandalwood. He might even go so far as to say he _likes_ the way sandalwood smells.

He…might even go so far as to say he likes the way the Dirty stuff smells.

But the deciding factor is when he washes off his hands and goes for his razor. The blades slide over the shaving cream like _fucking silk_ , from neck to cheekbone, with not a nick or a missed hair in sight. He stares down a his razor for some mystical explanation, but finds none - washes out the blades as instructed on the tin, has another go at his face. Again and again, he runs the razor over his skin - again and again, it fails to disappoint. His face is closer shaved than it’s been in years as he finishes, and - after rubbing it clean with a washcloth - touches it to find his skin is _softer_ than it’s been since…since before he had stubble. Ever. He stares down at the tiny container of shaving cream with a newfound respect. Dirty is _incredible._

_No one can ever know._

~~

“You look perky,” Furiosa says noncommittally, leaning heavily on a shovel as Max digs around in the back of the work van for a sledgehammer. “What’d you do, win ten bucks in a scratch-lottery?”

Max shrugs back, wrenches his prize from its place in the haggard pile. “Lotta coffee,” he grunts, and then, “so how’s, um…how’re your sisters?”

Furiosa raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you ask about my home life?”

Max grunts, shrugs, and looks away sheepishly. It’s about the best way he knows to change the subject. Thankfully, Furiosa doesn’t push - instead, she just points towards their work area for the day, directs a couple of the rig boys towards the proper work stations, and begins shoveling out the dirt around the sidewalk they need to pull up. It’s a small work area in a residential strip, which means they can’t use bigger tools - which is fine. Max always gets some genuine pleasure out of breaking things with his bare hands and building back over it.

Maybe she’s curious, or maybe she thinks it was just in good will, but Furiosa actually answers Max’s question on their lunch break, half a sandwich in. “My sisters are fine,” she says, mostly unprompted. “They’re happy in their work, which is more than I could say at their age. I mean - only Splendid really wants to _stay_ there, but it’s a good place to get work experience for their resumes.”

Max makes a grunting noise. “So, so they’re in school, mostly?”

Furiosa shrugs, chugs down half a bottle of water before answering. It’s kind of incredible, actually. Sort of a cosmic experience to watch. She doesn’t even choke out on it. “Cheedo’s in school,” she says, half-breathless, “studying archeology. And Dag’s majoring in chemical agriculture. But Toast and Capable are just applying to schools right now.”

Secretly, Max wonders who named Furiosa’s sisters, because they honestly sound like they were just named by a committee of uninvolved spectators who just thought it’d be hilarious to name a kid ‘Toast’. He does not say this out loud. Mostly, he bobs his head to one side, grunts again, and settles on “they’re good kids,” before shoveling the rest of his soup out of a thermos.

She squints at him for a second, as though trying to figure out if he’s serious or not. “They are,” she says, finally, and goes for the water again.

~~

There are only two problems with Dirty. Number one, it kinda gums up Max’s razor, but whatever, he’s committed to just using disposable ones. The second problem is more of an issue - there’s just not very much of it.

After two or three weeks of smelling good and feeling surprisingly self-confident, Max’s fingers scrape the bottom of the tin. Which is sort of a nightmare. It occurs to him, suddenly, that if he actually wants more shaving cream, he’s going to have to go back, after the fuss he made and how much he swore up and down that he never intended on returning, and blah blah blah. He needs an excuse, or he’s going to have to sacrifice his pride on a slab in front of Furiosa.

Max is not, and never has been, one for doing a lot of talking. Making excuses is going to be even worse. He breathes in that sweet sandalwood-and-something smell and begins to formulate a plan.

The plan mostly goes like this: get Furiosa to go to Lush with him. Maybe ask if she wants to get something there? This plan isn’t finished. Max is really, really bad at coming up with plans for stuff like this.

Still, he gets the opportunity to talk to her while the painting crew is spraying the siding of a house a glinting, faux-steel color. “So, you, um,” he starts, then clears his throat. “You running out of that, uh, balm you use?”

She glances sideways at him. “I guess,” she says, shrugs. “I mean, I still have half a tin left. But given how often I’m using it these days…” she trails off, flexes her fingers experimentally. “Why the sudden interest?”

“Just a question.” Wait, no. Not a question, there’s definitely an ulterior motive. Backtrack. Backtrack. “I was just thinking…I mean, that time you took me with you - I complained a lot, but it wasn’t bad.” Too much. Bring it back. “I mean, it was nice to meet your sisters. I mean…” He clears his throat again, uncomfortably. “That is, it was…we don’t, you know, we don’t spend any time together outside of work, it was…nicer than I anticipated…hm.” He shoves his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking. This is the most he’s talked all at once in months. Years. It’s not comfortable, and he really, _really_ doesn’t know what he’s doing. “So, um, what do you think?”

Furiosa is squinting at him, lips pursed. “I think we need to work on your communication skills,” she says, after a brief pause, “because I don’t know if you want to go to the mall with me, or if you’re asking me out on a date.”

Max is stunned. His respiratory system, like a true wingman, gives him a distraction, and he coughs violently while Furiosa watches with interest. “Um, of the two…” he says in a brief pause, “uh, mall? Mall.”

She looks like she’s going to laugh, but she doesn’t - which Max appreciates sincerely. “Okay,” she says after another pause, “we’ll go on the way home.”

~~

Furiosa’s truck smells like diesel fuel, fast food, and coffee, the three true scents of construction workers. The small Lush outlet at the mall smells like…whatever the hell that Lush scent is, like a million different floral palettes all fighting for dominance. Max shoves his hands into his pockets nonchalantly and tips his head down as he follows Furiosa in. Her sisters - those not engaging customers and dooming them to a hellswamp of expensive beauty products - immediately bounce over to greet her, and Max quickly breaks off to find the shaving cream. He’s looking at the two different sizes and trying to figure out how long the larger one will last - it has an expiration date, why does it have an expiration date, it’s _shaving cream_ \- when Splendid pounces.

“Oh, did you like the stuff you got here last time?” She startles him so badly he almost drops both containers. “We have a whole line of the Dirty scent in different products.”

“What, I don’t…how did you remember?”

Splendid shrugs, smiles. “You’re the only work friend Furiosa has. We sort of _had_ to talk about it when she brought you in.” Max splutters, blinks rapidly, and Splendid quickly overcomes the stammering about his mouth that might - in more verbal men - indicate speech. “So in the Dirty line we also have a hair styling product, a body spray, shower gel, cologne, soap…I think we even have a massage bar for it. It’s one of our most popular lines.”

Max grunts, still recovering from the comment about work friends. “Oh, thank you, I - I don’t think I need…any of that sort of thing right now.”

“How about a hand lotion?” Splendid raises her eyebrows at his hands, which awkwardly clutch the shaving cream. “Your knuckles look pretty worn out. You do a lot of hands-on construction work like Furiosa does, right? You should get something for that.”

Max glances desperately towards Furiosa. She’s talking avidly with Toast - or at least, Toast is talking avidly and Furiosa is tilting her head and nodding at intervals - and she doesn’t catch his emergency _rescue-me_ look. Which leaves Max stranded with Splendid, and he sighs in defeat. “So you mean like - that stuff she uses? The balm stuff?”

“Weeeeell, Ultrabalm is good for small cuts and chapped lips, things like that - it’s a very good multi-purpose balm - but if you use your hands all the time, you may want something more specialized,” she says, clicking into an easy rhythm before Max can figure out what’s going on. “For hard-working hands, we have two lotions that’ll work best - helping hands, which is in a cream form, and tiny hands, which is a bar lotion. Maybe I could show you some different kinds, and you can see what works best for you?”

He looks back to Furiosa again for help, finds her looking back, smiling triumphantly, and he realizes there is no help coming. He has been thrown to the floral-scented, soft-skinned sharks, and there is no way out.

Max glances back to Splendid, sighs, and nods.

~~

As with his last purchase, Max chooses the cheaper option - the bar lotion is a small, yellow, hand-shaped price downgrade - and buys it along with the shaving cream without really knowing why. This time, though, he doesn’t intend to wait a month to try it. It has a strong smell, sure, but if it’s anything like the miracle he witnessed with the shaving cream, he’d feel like a jackass for waiting.

He’s never really used any kind of hand-lotion before, and he has no idea how much of it to use or how you’re even supposed to use it. Splendid was very nice about the whole thing, and gave him a sample of each product on either hand. Both of his hands were weirdly soft and almost painless for two or three hours, but buy the time he returns to his house, they’re red and cracking again. Apparently, this is not a thing your skin is supposed to be.

The first time, he uses too much, just keeps rubbing the bar on his chapped skin until there’s a thin greasy layer all over his skin, which isn’t ideal. The second time, after he’s plowed through two bowls of chili and an episode and a half of Burn Notice, he doesn’t use enough, only covering his knuckles.

But by the next day, on his lunch break, he gets it right. And he gets it _so_ right.

~~

“Bloodbag!” The cry rings out, excited, over the construction site, and Max sighs and slumps in his seat, tries to get as much sandwich into his mouth as possible before Nux inevitably plucks it from his fingers and eats it.

Sure enough, maybe thirty seconds after, the kid vaults over the bench Max was (previously) sitting peacefully at alone and slam-dunks himself into an overly familiar seat beside him, so close their legs are pressing together. Max grunts as a way of acknowledging his uninvited guest and hunches irritated shoulders as Nux’s arm slings companionably around him.

“Bloodbag,” he repeats, gasping for breath from his bolt across the lot, “I hear you know Furiosa’s sisters. D’you know Capable? Red hair? Shiny as the daystar?”

Great, more slang Max doesn’t know. There are more and more young people on the crew every day, and the way they talk to each other makes his head spin. Is ‘shiny’ good or bad? ‘Daystar’ has to be the sun, right? Well, it’s a yes or no question - and Max definitely knows Capable. Sweet kid, if a little too energetic for her own good. He shrugs, nods, grunts an affirmation. Nux lets out a joyous whoop right in Max’s ear, and he flinches away.

“This is fantastic! You can introduce me to her!” Nux is so caught up in his ecstasy that he almost doesn’t catch the look of confusion on Max’s face, but springs to remedy it once he does. “I know her from school - I didn’t realize she was Furiosa’s sister until recently - I’ve never been able to talk to her before, I’m so in love with her, I have to meet her.” Max’s brow furrows, either in confusion or despair, and he considers telling Nux that he can’t be _in love with a girl_ he’s _never spoken to_ , then decides that 1.) this is too many words for him, and 2.) if Nux got defensive and asked him what he even knew about it, he might have to explain his own, uh, situation. So instead, he stays quiet, eats more sandwich. Maybe he can get all of it in his stomach before Nux goes for it. "We can say I’m your work friend! Furiosa says they all _love_ you.” 

_That_ gets Max’s attention. He chokes on sandwich, coughs for a minute and drowns it with water before trying to form words. “Furiosa talks…to _you_ …about _me_ ,” he manages, looks down in his hand to find the remainder of his lunch now resting comfortably in Nux’s hands.

“Well, ‘course, Bloodbag,” Nux replies, voice muffled by a mouth full of bread and cheese, “you’re her best friend, right? She talks about you all the time.”

Max feels his neck and back get unpleasantly itchy and hot all at once, and he distracts himself with his water bottle. Nux is looking at him with a sudden newfound amazement, chewing intently. “Hey,” he says, as Max lowers his drink at last, “you _like_ her, don’t you?”

Whatever water was left in Max’s mouth, he spits in surprise, catching some of it in his unfortunate hand but leaving most of it to dribble down his work shirt. Nux swallows, gasps, puts more of Max’s lunch in his mouth while Max desperately tries to wipe his hands down on his pants or clean his shirt off or do something, _anything_ , that will get him out of this conversation.

It’s not working. Nux is staring at him, and there’s a grin creeping across his face. “You _do_ ,” he says again, and Max groans and puts his face in his hands. “This is great! You help me meet Capable, and _I’ll_ help you with Furiosa! It’s perfect! You scratch my back - “

“No,” Max says suddenly, shakes his head. He might be embarrassed, but he’s not going to let Nux do something stupid, like try and set him up, or _tell Furiosa anything they have discussed here_. “Capable works at the mall. Spa store. Don’t talk to Furiosa.”

Nux nods, staring intently. “Sure, sure,” he says, voice energized, “I won’t tell her anything. Swear on the high engine.”

As he shoves the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, vaults back over the bench, and dashes back across the lot, Max watches him go, slaps the water in his hand on his neck to cool him down. It’s about time for a water refill, anyway.

He has a bad feeling about this.


End file.
